ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ

you're losing me → e. hewson

pairing —elijah hewson x singer!fem!reader

summary —where you release a new single that sends your friends into a heartbroken panic

sarahskeetz guys, before you go crazy about the eli and y/n rumours, please use some common sense and reevaluate. y/n's wrote countless songs about how elijah is her soulmate AND how media is often so wrong and invasive in regards to their lives and that people shouldn't believe things unless either of them say it directly. plus, these pictures of them were literally posted last month. she'd hardly have prepped you're losing mebto be released in that amount of time

username no fr, even if they did split, they don't deserve the harassment they're both getting online for it

joshjenkily litch. they should be allowed to deal with it in their own time

ynbridgerss okay but the clear parallels between these songs and ylm....

pheebrodrighoe no I get you but y/n hasn't interacted with any of the inhaler guys in a month despite being active online for her tour and even camilla (the number one eliyn stan) hasn't mentioned them since those photos

ynkissmeee lowk hope the rumours are true, he's been leeching off her for years 😭

judebellinghams omg shut up what are you even talking about 💀

yourusername thank u for all the love tonight, la! it's been a hectic week at best so it was lovely to just enjoy the night with you all 💞 but onto the elephant in the room.... i'm still very happily in a relationship with my little babygirl. "you're losing me" is written about my former relationships (mostly platonic) with others that i finally realised were TOTALLY MESSED UP after being with someone who loves me wholeheartedly for so long xx thank you all for the people who did send kind messages my way but please stop listening to gossip sites 😭

sahraskeetz THANK YJE LORD

camillamorrone guys my tweet was bcs y/n ditched me to get food w 🤢eli🤢

yourusername i brought u back a tiramisu shut up

ynxcamistan QUEEN YOU HAD US GAGGED

gracieabrams mother!!

ynhq thank god, we didn't want to leave elijah completely alone in the divorce 💔

robertkeating ❤️❤️

phoebebridgers so in love with you

devonleecarlson stop girl i was giggling over the articles 😭

bellahadid ok stunner

---

[13.2k] the chalet was your home away from home in the festive season. but this year it may become the place you fall in love with the last person you expected. ft my very limited knowledge on how skiing works. (very lazy smut included)

.

Your family had always gone to The Chalet with the Montgomery’s for as long as you could remember. 

One spontaneous ski trip decades ago led your parents to start a tradition that would last through the generations. Every year, both families would fly out to the mountains of France to enjoy the festive season in the homely ski resort called The Chalet. Owned and ran by an elderly couple, it was the kind of place you would see in hallmark movies, or maybe even in a snowglobe. It was a place beyond your greatest winter wonderland dreams and imagination. The Chalet didn’t feel like a real place, and that was why the getaway every Christmas made the holiday so magical. 

It was your home away from home, a safe haven. It was the one place in the world where you could disappear from reality and embrace the isolation from society. 

At least, that was what the three weeks in the ski resort usually felt like. 

And after a year of moving away from home, starting a new job at the bottom of the food chain and dealing with more social circle drama than you ever intended to deal with, you craved nothing more than the simplicity and enjoyment The Chalet had to offer. You needed the break away from your life, a break away from the life you weren’t totally sure you had under control. 

You just wanted your home away from home, and instead when the families arrived at the resort, you were met with crowds of strangers swarming the place like a colony of buzzing, irritating bees. 

“What the hell?” You muttered once you had stepped out of the car, looking at the throng of people lingering outside the main entrance to the resort. 

“Apparently the place is booked out,” your mother noted from somewhere behind you as they began to unpack the bags from the boot of the car. “Madame Blanchet reserved our usual rooms when she started getting more and more bookings.” 

“Since when was this place overbooked?” You commented, a little blunter than intended. But it was hard to mask your surprise. A part of The Chalet’s charm was that it was a small, unknown ski resort hidden amongst the many that were established in the French Mountains. For as long as you could remember—hell, even before that—there hadn’t been more than ten or so families staying at the resort over the Christmas period. 

“Maybe Madame Blanchet finally learnt how to make a website,” a voice remarked from beside you, sounding quite amused by the mass of people, which shouldn’t have really surprised you. 

And just like you expected, you turned your head to find Harper Montgomery grinning widely at the crazy crowd like she was expecting it. She stood beside you with her hands on her hips, something about the bright ski suit looking so out of place, not that she acted as much. Every year, you swore The Chalet wasn’t ready for her and every year you were proven correct. 

“Considering the woman still has a dial phone, I am going to doubt the sudden online advertisement,” you snorted, shaking your head.

“Maybe this will be the Christmas we make new friends,” Harper noted, her head tilted to the side and her dark eyes scanning the crowd. “I am pretty sick of Mrs Hartford beating me at scrabble.”

Your lips twitched upwards. “Maybe you should stop challenging her then.”

Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Never.” 

“I still don’t get why so many people are waiting outside,” you grumbled as your eyes fell back to the crowd, noticing the way they were buzzing with some sort of excitement. “I don’t even think the lodge has enough rooms for this many people.” 

Harper hummed. “Maybe—”

“OH MY GOD!” 

Your eyes widened in alarm as you turned your head, seeing Evan standing a few feet away from you and Harper. The older Montgomery was gripping his phone, eyes full of adoration and awe as he grinned at his screen like a madman. He let out a high-pitched squeak, catching the attention of both families as they looked at him with varying looks of concern.

The blond finally lifted his head, oblivious to the worried looks as his grin seemingly widened. He thrusted a phone towards you and Harper, almost buzzing in his spot. “He’s here!”

Your brows furrowed together. “What?”

“He’s here!” Evan repeated, just as enthusiastic as the first time. “He is in our ski lodge! He’s here!” 

You still looked equally confused. “Who?” 

“His little man-crush,” Harper noted as she glanced down at his screen. 

“Charles Leclerc!” Evan sighed, almost dreamily as he hugged his phone to his chest. “We are spending Christmas with Charles Leclerc!” 

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, pushing past the boy to grab your suitcase so you could finally go check in. “For fuck’s sake, not your little driving guy.” 

“Hey,” Evan frowned. “He’s more than that.” 

“I have to listen to you talk about him for nine months of the year,” you remarked, though even that felt like an understatement. “Christmas is meant to be my free time from your little obsession. We made a deal.”

Evan blanched. “That was before I knew he was here!” 

“And now he’s ruining Christmas,” you grumbled bitterly, letting out a wince when you felt a pinch to your side.

“Don’t be such a grinch,” Harper teased. “Let him be a fanboy and spend his days on the slopes hunting the guy down. Don’t let it ruin your holiday.”

You snorted. “That will be hard when he is talking our ears off about Charles’ pretty green eyes or the way his hair looks after a race.”

“It’s fluffy!” Evan defended. “It’s unreal after a two hour race in a helmet!” 

“Whatever,” you muttered as you patted the boy on the chest as you moved past him. “You have him all to yourself, you won’t see me complaining about it.” 

Evan puffed his chest out. “You just can’t appreciate greatness.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” you waved him off. “I’m here to ski and relax. As long as this Charles guy keeps you and his little fanbase far away from me, I don’t care what he does.” There was a pause and Harper gave you a questioning look when she saw the glint in your eyes. “Even if he is overrated.”

Evan’s jaw dropped. “You did not just—”

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” You called out behind you as you grabbed Harper’s hand, dragging her towards the main entrance with you and letting your laughs echo through the reception as the boy swore up and down behind you.

…

You could have said that your resentment towards the Ferrari driver was purely based on how much Evan spoke about him during the racing season, but that would be a lie. 

It had started off that way when the boy finally made it into Formula One. Evan had been a motorsport fanatic from a young age, always eager to ramble away to you and Harper on various championships and seasons neither of you particularly cared about. As you got older, you learned to become more accepting and tolerant of the fact your Sundays would always be hijacked by whatever grand prix was occurring that weekend. 

However, when a young hot shot joined the sport that Evan had been following through the lower leagues, you didn’t realise just how quickly that tolerance would disappear until he was yapping your ear off after every single race. 

And truthfully? You didn’t get it. You didn’t get the sport in general, you didn’t understand what made a driver good or bad, and you didn’t understand the world’s obsession with Charles Leclerc as the years passed. To you, he just seemed like a pretty boy who enjoyed the spotlight of being the face of the sport. To you, he seemed like nothing more than a show pony. 

And no amount of debates and rants from Evan would change that. 

You wouldn’t have gone out of your way to say you hate Charles Leclerc, but you would say you were coming pretty damn close since you arrived at The Chalet.

The Chalet was bustling from the moment you opened your eyes to the moment you fell asleep. Wherever you went, it felt like you were pushing through a crowd to get from point A to point B. And the amount of times you had fans gripping your arm as you walked past, asking you if you had seen the Monegasque driver was starting to make you want to rip your own hair out. 

Yet, despite the buzz around the driver being in the lodge and the amount of fans circling the place through various hours of the day, you had yet to see the boy himself and that was something you were perfectly content with.

You had managed two blissful days before you crossed paths with Charles Leclerc. 

You had been taking too long to get ready so you assured Harper and Evan you would meet them at the slopes, insisting there was no need for them to wait for you. Both Montgomery’s—stubborn as ever—scoffed and told you they would be waiting for you in the lobby instead. 

You had been in a rushed state when you made your way towards the equipment valet, eager to just quickly hand your locker number over and collect your equipment. However, your path seemed to be blocked by a man standing in front of you, nose buried in his phone as he muttered in a language you didn’t quite understand. 

“Excuse me, do you mind if I just—” 

“Fucking hell,” the man swore, causing you to pause and frown at his back. 

You were taken aback, not expecting that response or the scoff that left his lips afterwards. And when he turned around, you were even more shocked when you realised you knew exactly who the rude man was—none other than Charles Leclerc. 

“Look, I appreciate that you are a devoted fan and I am grateful for the support, but I really don’t have time for pictures right now,” Charles continued and, to his credit, did look a little empathetic. Though, that didn’t take away from the underlying hostility in his words. “I am just here to enjoy my break. Please let me do so in peace.” 

You blinked, absolutely flabbergasted by his assumption. “Huh?”

The smile he gave you was almost condescending. “As a fan, I am sure you’d understand that I’d want a few days just free from the media and—”

And it seemed like only then did your brain catch up with the situation. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart, I am not a fan,” you stated as bluntly as you could, watching the boy’s face morph into something quite like confusion. As though he genuinely couldn’t compute the fact somebody wasn’t a fan of him. 

“What?”

“I was just trying to get my skis and you were standing in my way like a douche,” you said simply, watching as his brows furrowed closer together. “Which I would have felt bad for calling you before I realised who you were.”

“Who I was,” Charles repeated, still baffled as you pushed past him to do just as you said. 

“Hot shot who thinks everybody who breathes near him cares about who he is,” you supplied, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you now stood before him with your skis in hand. “Have a great day, Charles Leclerc.”

And the boy didn’t get a chance to say anything as you walked away, your mood positively ruined by the time you reached Evan and Harper in the lobby. They took one look at your sour mood and raised their brows in question, but you simply grumbled and waved them off, in no mood to repeat your interaction to Charles’ biggest sympathiser. 

Fortunately for the Montgomery siblings, your mood eased up by lunchtime and you were (mostly) over the whole interaction. 

…

Or at least, you were over the interaction until dinner came around. 

Dinner at The Chalet was like one massive family meal. With a large hall dedicated as the dining area, the Blanchet’s had set it up quite like a buffet system. There were tables of food bordering the room with tables dotted through the middle. Everyone sat on the round tables, in their little families and looking like a picture perfect scene for the final meal of the day. 

So of course your final meal of the day had to be ruined by an arrogant Monegasque who grinned at you like you two were old friends. 

“Ah, you! I’ve been looking for you.”

Truthfully, you wouldn’t have even realised he was talking to you if it weren’t for the fact the boy had stopped right beside you, practically looming over your shoulder as you tried to help yourself to some macaroni cheese.

You raised your brows, giving the boy a once-over before returning your attention to your plate. 

“Uh, hello,” Charles tried again, his brows furrowing together a little at the cold shoulder you gave him.

“Hi,” you stated simply, not wanting to spend any more moments with the Monegasque than you had to. 

“I wanted to apologise for earlier,” Charles continued, seeing your response as an open invite to a conversation. 

“Do you now?”  

“Yeah,” Charles nodded, a smile making its way onto his face as your sarcastic tone went completely over his head. “Listen, I really didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—this is my holiday and I had no intention of my location being leaked. I just wanted a break from everything, you know? And I guess the frustrations of being bombarded for the last few days just got to me.” 

And truthfully speaking, a part of you sympathised with the boy. Though his fame reached levels you would never understand, The Chalet was your haven away from everything. It was a place where reality never seemed to touch, a place to escape. You could understand better than anyone what it was like to crave that feeling in your life. 

But just as you opened your mouth to say as much, Charles seemed to remind you exactly why you disliked him in the first place.

“And I just wanted to clear things up with you before the media found out and—” 

“So, you’re only apologising because you don’t want me running to journalists and ruining your image?” You interrupted, catching the boy off-guard as he gaped at you for a few seconds.

“Well, yes, it wouldn’t look good if I was harassing fans,” Charles said.

“But I’m not a fan,” you corrected him, gripping your plate in your hands. “And I certainly don’t care about shattering someone’s image for fifteen seconds of fame, no matter how much of a douche they are.”

Charles frowned. “I—” 

“You can take your apology and shove it up your ass, Charles,” you said, that sickly sweet smile on your face once again as you turned around to find whichever table your family were sitting at. But a hand reached out to softly grip your elbow and you turned to find Charles looking at you with a helpless expression. 

“I am sorry,” Charles said to you, something in his voice that you didn’t really understand. “But I also care about my image. Surely you can understand that.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you retorted as you tried to tug yourself free from his hold. 

Charles opened his mouth to reply, but a louder voice caught the attention of both of you. 

“STORMY! OVER HERE!” 

You felt your face heat up as you glanced over your shoulder, finding Evan sat amongst your family and his own as he waved you down. He had a shit-eating grin on his face (most likely from the fact he used the one nickname that he knew pissed you off more than anything else in front of everyone) and looked like he was about to do more when his gaze shifted to the man beside you. His jaw dropped, a comical expression on his face as he looked between you and Charles Leclerc.

“Stormy?” Charles repeated, looking over at you. 

You ignored his questioning gaze, instead narrowing your eyes at the hand still gripping your elbow. “Can you let me go now or is there more to your shitty apology?”

Charles opened his mouth once again, yet another person interrupted him before he got a chance.

“Charles? What’s taking you so long?”

Your eyes wandered to the girl who saddled up beside him, her expression light until she turned to look at you. Her gaze was calculated, her blue eyes seeming to size you up and something about the all white attire made you wonder if she was really playing into the Ice Queen vibes. 

“Another fan?” She sighed, as though your presence was the biggest inconvenience to her. “Honey, he can take pictures with you after dinner—”

“That’s fine, we’re done here,” you quickly corrected, ignoring the patronising tone in her voice or the way that Charles still looked like he had more to say. “I won’t be bothering either of you anytime soon.” 

You turned on your heels before either one of them had a chance to drag out the interaction any longer than it needed it to be. You weaved through the tables before making your way towards the table your family had chosen, settling yourself in the free seat beside Evan.

“That was Charles Leclerc!” 

You hummed, grabbing your fork as you began to dig in. “Unfortunately so.” 

“Dude, what the hell!” Evan hissed, pinching your side until you let out a small squeak and turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

You frowned. “I don’t.”

“You were talking to him for ages!” Evan countered. 

“He was just being a dick,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Plus, that was probably the last time I’ll ever talk to him.” 

Harper snorted. “And you didn’t even get him an autograph.”

“Not that I would ask,” you prefaced before shaking your head. “But I doubt he would have given me one anyways. We…got off on the wrong foot.” 

“It’s Charles Leclerc,” Evan scoffed. “There is no wrong foot.” 

“Keep it in your pants, dickhead,” you teased, lightly pinching his side back in retaliation. “Even if I did get you an autograph, I would have shredded it after the Stormy stunt you just pulled.”

“But that’s your name,” Evan grinned.

“No, it’s what you called me for seven years because you couldn’t remember my name,” you retorted. 

“No, he remembered,” Harper piped in, a grin on her face that scarily matched her brother’s. “But with a temper like yours, Stormy just fits so much better.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. You both suck and so does Charles Leclerc.” 

“At least wait until dessert before you start insulting Evan’s boyfriend in front of him.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

…

You had expected that was the last time your path would ever cross with Charles Leclerc and, for the most part, it was. 

A few days passed and other than some awkward shared glances in the dining hall, you hadn’t found yourself caught in a conversation with the Ferrari driver after his attempted apology and you were intending to keep it that way until the end of your trip. You were happy to continue on with your holiday, even if you swore you could feel a pair of eyes watching you sometimes. 

However, it seemed like the universe was on a mission to get your hopes up before crumbling them back down again—and this time, it was in the form of another involuntary meeting with the Monegasque. 

You hadn’t even noticed the boy standing a few feet away from you with a group of his friends. You were stood next to Harper, listening to her ramble away as you waited in line for the ski lift to take you to the top of the mountain. It was fairly early, most of the resort residents still enjoying their breakfast inside which meant the queue wasn’t very long. You had been eager to get out on the snow early after being one of the last in the passing days. 

However, whilst you failed to notice the driver, it seemed like Harper had. 

She watched the boy continuously glance over at you, like he was eager to catch your eye. She watched as he slowly shuffled closer, like he was trying to gain the confidence to jump into the conversation. She watched Charles Leclerc act like a hopeless fool, and it was somewhat endearing to witness.

And maybe—just maybe—she was in the mood for some drama that the vacation in the ski resort very rarely gave her. 

You were already settled in your spot when you felt someone shuffling in the seat next to you. You felt the comfort bar come down and you turned with a smile, ready to continue your conversation with your best friend when you realised your best friend was not the person sitting next to you. 

No, it was Charles Leclerc. 

Your head whirled around, finding Harper standing in the queue with a grin on her face. You shot her a look, one that spoke more than a thousand words on just how you felt about her betrayal. However, the girl just laughed and waved you off as the lift began moving and it was far too late to get off. 

Your attention shifted to the boy beside you again, noticing the sheepish expression on his face and you let out a sigh. 

It was fine. Totally fine. The ski lift took around ten minutes to get to the top of the mountain. That was hardly anything, practically a blink of an eye if you were being honest. It would be a quick ride up, you wouldn’t even have to talk to him and you could easily ignore him by the time you made your way back down the mountain. It was all going to be so, so fine.

“So, uh, how are you this morning?” 

And suddenly, even a second felt like ten years passing. 

You kept your head facing forward, hoping the boy would catch the hint that you weren’t interested in small talk and would also remain silent. Though, considering the fact he was fidgeting in his seat, you doubted the boy could keep quiet for longer than thirty seconds.

“The weather is great, right?”

Your brows furrowed together. The weather? Really?

“The pancakes were also really good at breakfast this morning. Did you have any?” He continued, only pausing for a moment when he realised you were making a point of not answering him. “Stormy?”

One simple word and that was enough for you to break your silence.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, a little harsher than you truly intended but the sentiment remained.

Charles blinked. “You don’t want me to call you your name?”

“It’s not my name,” you replied. 

He blinked again. “But in the dining hall—”

“It’s a nickname—one that Evan likes to wind me up with because he thinks I’m moody,” you explained before realising the boy didn’t really deserve an explanation. Not when you were adamant to keep this conversation short. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Well, I can see where he gets it from,” Charles said with a small snort. 

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

Seeming to realise what he said and just how it sounded out loud, it was almost comical to watch Charles’ lips part before he awkwardly gaped at his previous comment. “Not like that! I just meant—”

“Whatever,” you muttered as you turned to face forwards again, pleading for the lift to somehow reach the top of the mountain already.

“Look, I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I intended this to go,” Charles admitted, almost sounding a bit pained when he said it, as though he wasn’t used to admitting he was wrong. “I wanted to properly apologise. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you, and I definitely shouldn’t have brushed it off as anything except how you felt.” 

You paused, brows furrowing together as you turned to face him with a curious expression.

Charles blinked. “What?”

“I was just waiting to see if there was a ‘but’ coming,” you confessed.

“No buts,” he assured, pausing for a moment before his cheeks burned pink. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s it.”

You let out a sigh, wishing that some part of you was suspicious about his apology but you weren’t. He sounded genuine, and as much as you wanted to—and still partially did—believe he was a bit of a pompous prick, you couldn’t fault that his apology seemed sincere.

“I accept your apology,” you said, your voice a little strained before you continued. “And I’m also sorry for being a bit of a bitch.”

Charles’ lips parted. “Oh no, you weren’t—”

“I was a little,” you said, your lips twitching upwards as the boy gave you a nervous smile. “I can assure you I won’t be telling any gossip pages about what an asshole Charles Leclerc is.” 

He actually laughed in response, despite the fact that alone would probably make his PR team bury him six feet under before the next season started. “I appreciate that, Stormy.”

You glowered at the nickname, but it only seemed to make the Monegasque laugh harder. 

…

Despite the exchange of apologies on the ski lift, you expected that to be your last proper interaction with Charles. 

You were also quickly realising that every time—so far—you had assumed as much, you would find yourself face to face with the driver once again. And this time was no different, except it came much earlier than a few days. It happened later that very same day.

You had made your way into the dining hall, grabbing a plate and beginning to survey the large buffet when you felt the warmth of another person standing beside you. You felt a hand brush your arm and turned to find Charles smiling at you. 

“Bonjour, mon ami.” 

You blinked. “What?”

His smile widened. “It means—”

“No, I know what it means,” you quickly corrected, shaking your head a little. “I just…didn’t realise we were friends.”

Charles’ brows furrowed together. “Why wouldn’t we be? I thought we had made up on the ski lift.” 

“Yes but, other than that, we are strangers,” you said to him like it was obvious—and to you, it was. Beyond a few misunderstandings and awkward apologies, the man in front of you was as much a friend to you as any of the other guests in the lodge.

“Well, we can change that now!” He said, and that smile returned to his face. “Turn over a new book or whatever the saying is.” 

Much to your own surprise, you found yourself laughing a little at his response. “Charles, I—”

“STORMY, HURRY UP OR I AM DRINKING YOUR WINE!” 

Both your and Charles’ head snapped over to Evan who was holding a wine glass in each hand, a large smile plastered on his face and a twinkle in his eyes that promised mischief. His hair was still wet from the shower he took before dinner, meaning it was slick back and giving him an almost wannabe Bond villain look. 

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to look at the driver. Only you found Charles still looking in Evan’s direction, something contemplative and almost begrudging in his gaze. 

“You okay?”

Charles turned to face you, and it took a mere second for the glare to disappear and be replaced with his bright smile once again. “Yeah, of course. It seems like you’re wanted elsewhere though.”

“He’s a menace,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes but the fondness was clear in your voice. “I love him even if he’s a pain in the ass.”

Charles only let out a contemplative hum as a goodbye as you headed towards the table where your family and the Montgomery’s were sitting. And maybe if you looked over at him as much as he did with you over the course of the dinner, you would have seen Charles looking a little too bitter every time your eyes were on Evan instead of him.

…

A week had passed in the resort and the Christmas spirit was starting to truly spread as the festive holiday quickly approached. 

Your parents and the Montgomery parents had decided to pass on the slopes, instead choosing to visit infamous glacier caves that had been advertised and talked about by some locals in the lodge. You, Harper and Evan had declined the offer to join them, though the excitement of no parents being around—despite the fact all three of you were firmly in your twenties—seemed to spark a shift in energy in Evan that could only be described as childlike. 

“I have a proposition.” 

Harper already let out a groan, tilting her head back as she did. You couldn’t see her eyes beneath her goggles, but you imagined she was rolling them. “God, no.”

Evan frowned. “You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“Your ideas are shit,” Harper said to her brother. “And usually dangerous.”

“No, they aren’t,” Evan scoffed.

You shrugged. “You don’t have a great track record, if we are being honest.”

“Whatever,” Evan grumbled before grinning at the two of you. “First two to reach the bottom wins. Sabotaging each other’s run is allowed. Loser has to do the forfeit.” 

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s the forfeit?” 

“Loser has to streak in the snow,” he grinned.

“I am not streaking in the snow,” Harper scoffed.

“Then, you better hope you win,” the older Montgomery countered with a grin. 

And begrudgingly, you and Harper agreed to his childish idea.

It wasn’t the first time a silly competition between the three of you got out of hand, and you truly doubted it would be the last. With no rules set and no parents to even try to intervene, it didn’t take very long before the competition got dirty and the run down the slopes became more chaotic. 

You had been running behind Harper, secure in second place and watching her movements closely to look for any weakness that you could exploit. However, you had failed to realise that Evan—who had been running behind after he almost skied into a group of people—was quickly catching up on you. 

You didn't realise until it was too late.

You let out a noise of surprise when you found the boy right by your side, one that quickly became a series of curses when you realised what he was doing. You tried to move away when you noticed him turning into you, but you were too slow and it only put you in a worse position when his pole lodged itself between your skis. 

He was long gone by the time you tumbled into the snow, cackling loudly as he went. You let out a groan of frustration as you turned until you were lying on your back. You winced a little as you tried to awkwardly scramble up onto your feet in hopes of catching up with the Montgomery siblings, but the second a bit of pressure was placed on your ankle, you were crying out in pain and your ass hit the snow once again.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself as you sat in the snow, tears welling in your lash line at the shot of pain up your leg. 

“Cherie!” 

You lifted your head when you noticed someone skidding to a stop beside you. You blinked at them in a moment of confusion, but the second they removed their goggles and pulled down their mask, you found Charles—or at least, a very worried and concerned version of him—looking down at you. 

He took you in, noticing the glossy sheen to your eyes before he turned back to look over his shoulder, letting out a string of curse words that you were certain were not in English before his attention returned to you.

“Are you okay? What hurts? Is something broken? Should I call for them to send a helicopter—” 

“Charles,” you quickly interrupted the rambling boy. “I’m fine. I’ve probably just sprained my ankle.” 

“Yeah, because of him,” Charles grumbled, mostly under his breath like he had no real intention for you to hear the snide remark.

“It was a joke,” you waved him off, but that only seemed to upset the boy further.

“A joke?” He repeated, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You’re hurt. It’s hardly a funny joke.”

“Charles, calm down.”

The boy just scoffed, shaking his head before he lodged his poles into the snow, keeping them off the main trail before he turned to you and offered his hand. 

You looked at him expectantly. 

“Let me help you get down to the lodge,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. 

“Charles—” You began, but he wasn’t having it.

“No, cherie, I am not going to leave you here when you’re injured and alone,” he said, emphasising the last word in particular as he glanced around, almost like he had to remind you that Harper and Evan were most likely at the bottom of the slope by now. 

“Fine,” you said with a sigh, taking his gloved hand in yours as you allowed him to pull you up, keeping your weight on him with ease. “This doesn’t mean we are friends though, Charles.”

He only grinned at you, the first time he seemed a little more like himself since he stopped to check on you.

“Whatever you want to say, Stormy.”

…

As expected, you had sprained your ankle and were advised to take it easy for the next few days. 

And you were banned from hitting the slopes in fear of making the sprain worse. 

You wanted to be annoyed about the situation—and a small part of you was—but honestly, a few days in the lodge with some peace and quiet seemed like a dream. As much as you loved your family and the Montgomery’s, you needed a break from how loud and giddy and excited they were.

And as the days quickly approached Christmas, it felt like a nice relief to have some time to yourself before the festivities truly took over. 

You had waved them off after breakfast with a smile, teasing them not to miss you too much as they headed towards the slopes. Evan had offered to stay inside with you, even just for today, because of the guilt that he was the one to put you in the position. But you just rolled your eyes, assuring him you were more than happy to sit by the fireplace by the foyer and enjoy a day where you didn’t have to fall flat on your ass in the snow. 

You had been a few chapters into your book, curled up on the couch with your ankle elevated on a pillow with a blanket thrown over you when Charles and his friends made their way downstairs, prepped and ready with the intentions of heading out to the slopes. 

But the boy spotted you and found his feet moving in a different direction. 

“Stormy!”

You lifted your head, unable to even find it in yourself to be annoyed by his constant use of the nickname when he had a pretty smile on his face whenever he said it. He was bundled up in layers, probably on his way to the equipment kiosk before he headed for the lift. He looked comical next to the fire.

“My knight in shining armour,” you greeted, a teasing tilt in your voice but the boy missed it as he took in your appearance. “You look warm.”

“You’re staying in today?” 

You nodded. “Doc’s orders.”

“Alone?” 

You nodded once again. “I told the others they could—”

“I’ll stay with you!”

He said it so quickly that it took you a few seconds before you realised just what he had said. You blinked, your brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re at a ski resort and you don’t want to go skiing?”

“I’ve been skiing every day since I got here,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “I can handle not skiing for a day.”

You flashed him a smile. “It’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” he countered, the words passing his lips with ease.

You hated the way your chest tightened a little at his words. “Oh.”

Charles smiled at your response. 

“Charles, hurry up!” 

You missed the way his brows furrowed together at the voice when you turned to look at the woman standing a few feet away, looking impatient and slightly annoyed. It was the same woman from the other week, the one that looked a little too much like the cold weather personified. You had learnt over the passing days her name was Melanie, but that was about as far as your knowledge on the woman went, other than her clear attitude. 

Charles let out a sigh before he replied, a slightly more strained smile on his face. “Go on without me. I’m gonna stay in the lodge today.”

Melanie frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” Charles stated simply, and the repeated words made your chest feel funny again. 

Melanie glanced over at you and then Charles, and then back to you again. Her eyes were narrowed and her glare felt icy, but before she could even think of saying anything, a friend from the group was calling out to her and she had no choice but to join them. 

Charles turned back to you, an easy smile on his lips once again. “So…what’s the plan?” 

You snorted. “To sit here because I’m practically bedbound, unless I want to hobble somewhere.” 

Charles pressed his lips together. “Well, sitting by the fire with no hot chocolate is sacrilege.” 

Your nose scrunched up. “But I don’t have cookies. Hot chocolate by itself isn’t fun without homemade Christmas cookies.”

“Then we will make them,” Charles said.

You rolled your eyes. “And where are we making them? In our rooms with a kettle, tap water and no other ingredients?”

“Please,” Charles said with a scoff, a glint in his eyes as he looked down at you with a proud glint in his eyes. “I am Charles Leclerc. I have my ways.”

You weren’t sure what strings he pulled, who he bribed or just what he blackmailed the lodge owners with, but you were filled with a sort of unease when Charles returned twenty minutes later. He had changed out of his heavy ski gear into a pair of jeans and a sweater that looked insanely cosy. And he had told you that he needed you to close your eyes, to trust him enough to carry you to the destination with a promise that all the drama would be worth it.

He looked so damn proud when he brought you to the lodge’s kitchen with bowls and whisks and ingredients sprawled across the counter—it made that funny feeling in your chest return. 

“How did you manage this?” You asked, an incredulous laugh leaving your lips when he sat you on the counter. 

“I’m Charles Leclerc, I can get anything I want,” he said, and once upon a time, you would have rolled your eyes and thought he was a pompous dick. You still thought he was a little cocky, but it was an endearing trait now. 

You raised your brows. “Do you, Charles Leclerc, know how to bake?”

“Nope,” he said honestly but he was still smiling. “But I am sure I can make something edible with you guiding me.”

“Smooth,” you snorted. “Don’t blame me if they taste like shit.”

As it would turn out, Charles had an overbearing need to be in control of everything. You guessed it came with the lifestyle, the fact his life is always in the palm of his own hands whenever he sat in a car that raced hundreds of miles an hour. However, it seemed like it also extended to the Monegasque ignoring your very clear and correct instructions to do something he insisted was the right way.

“In what fucking world do you need that much sugar?” You remarked, lips parted in shock as you watched the boy add more. 

“They are sugar cookies, cherie, it’s in the name,” Charles retorted.

“That doesn’t mean the batter should be seventy-five percent sugar!” You huffed as you reached over to try and grab the bag of sugar from him. “You are going to make us both diabetic with one of those damn cookies. Don’t you have a diet you are meant to be following?” 

Charles only grinned, a little mischievous. “Yeah but it’s Christmas.”

You shook your head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“And you’re bossy,” he countered. 

“And I’m right,” you insisted as you frowned at the batter, wondering if it would be easier to just toss it out and start again. “It’s not my fault you don’t have the ego to handle it.”

“Or your ego can’t handle the challenge,” Charles said, something shining in his eyes like his words had a hidden meaning you couldn’t quite understand. “Tell me you don’t like it.”

You tilted your head a little. “You think you’re the only man to talk back to me, Leclerc?”

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I would like to think I’m the best.” 

You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes darkened, the way it seemed to surge some sort of competition inside him. You couldn’t help but want to play on his fragile male ego a little more.

“And if I said you weren’t?” You questioned, pressing your lips together in a poor attempt to hide your smirk. 

Charles breathed out of his nose, his jaw clenching a little before he replied. “Then I would say Evan is a lucky man to have you.”

And just like that, your smirk dropped. 

“What?” 

Charles frowned a little. “I would say Evan is a lucky man,” he repeated, the words sounding a little forced as they left his lips. “You two seem like…a great match even if he does leave you abandoned on a ski slope after—”

“Oh my god, no!” You blanched, your shoulders hunching up to your ears as you shook your head. “Ew, no! Absolutely not!”

Charles blinked. “Huh?”

“Me and Evan—” You swallowed hard, unable to even get the words out. “It’s not like that between us. I have known him forever, he’s like a brother to me.” 

“Oh,” Charles murmured, taking a few seconds before he grinned. “Oh!” 

“Yeah, oh,” you grumbled.

Charles couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “So, you aren’t—”

“Nope.”

“With Evan or anyone?”

“No one.”

“Good.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes at the giddiness written across his face. If someone told you it was Christmas morning, you would have believed them. “Subtle, Charles.”

“Subtle is my middle name.”

…

The next day, you met Charles by the foyer fireplace, but this time he was prepared with his own book. 

The day after, he was there again but both your books were quickly abandoned as you chatted away. 

The day after that, neither of you bothered to bring your books down. 

Despite your insistence that he should be out on the slopes enjoying his vacation and the downtime he had in between seasons, Charles was adamant that he was doing exactly what he deemed relaxing. And just like he said earlier, Charles Leclerc gets what he wants—and it seemed he wanted to spend his days huddled in the lodge with you. 

Everyone noticed the budding relationship between you and Charles, but nobody said a word. Well, your family and the Montgomery parents didn’t say a word. Harper and Evan on the other hand? They wouldn’t leave you alone.

Harper was cackling at the irony. She was throwing your words back in your face, teasing the way seemed to switch your opinion on the Monegasque driver in the span of a week and looked down right smitten for the boy. She teased you over the fact it took you almost two months before you went on a date with your ex-boyfriend, and here you were having daily fireplace dates with the boy you called an asshole less than a week ago. She was embracing her full right as your best friend to annoy the fuck out of you. 

Evan was a whole other story. The boy looked like a kicked puppy every time you came back from hanging out with Charles, only to tell him you didn’t get him an autograph nor did you bring into the conversation how cool he was or how amazing he was or how he and Charles would totally get on if you introduced them. You didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that up until seventy-two hours ago, Charles didn’t like him through a bizarre assumption.

It had been constant and annoying, but in a way that made your heart feel full because you knew no matter what, at least those two would support every decision you made. Even if they got unbearable during the meal times where Charles would find any excuse to come talk to you. 

Tonight was no different as he approached you with a smile spread across his face and something dangerous and promising shining in his eyes. You were sitting at the table alone whilst everyone else headed towards the tables to fill their plates—yours in Harper’s hand—and you were grateful for the small moment of peace as he leaned down. 

“Missing me already?” You teased. 

He shrugged, though he didn’t disagree. “I have a very important message for you.” 

You raised your brows in question. “Oh?” 

Instead of saying anything, the boy just grinned wider and handed you a small piece of paper. You frowned a little at it, looking up at him in confusion but the boy was already taking a few steps away from your table.

“Charles—”

But the boy just winked before turning on his heel, heading back to the table the rest of his friends were sitting at, where they were probably watching the whole interaction even if they tried to make it seem like they weren’t. 

You glanced down at the note in your hand, lips turned downwards as you opened the folded paper. It baffled you that he couldn’t just say what he had written down, but another part of you warmed a little at the idea that he had taken the time to write the note and go through with it—regardless of it being a bit silly. 

You couldn’t bite back your smile when you read the note. 

meet me @ midnight. my room number is 161. wear something cosy :) 

You snorted, shaking your head as every cell in your body thrummed in excitement to meet the boy you once hated later that night. 

…

“The note was cute, but I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just ask me to hang out.” 

“Because that’s not fun.”

“You just handed me the note, that’s hardly any different.”

“It was like a real life text, cherie. It’s how they used to do it back in the day.”

You snorted in response. 

You had listened to his advice, deciding that a hoodie and pyjama bottoms were the way to go as you snuck up to the floor he was staying at. Your knuckles had barely grazed the door before it was yanked open, a grinning boy on the other side. He was dressed in a baggy hoodie and grey sweatpants, his hair pushed back with a bandana and a pair of glasses sat on his nose.

He didn’t even give you a chance to say anything before he was dragging you inside.

It should have been obvious that Charles Leclerc of all people would have a suite but truthfully, you hadn’t even realised the lodge had master suites as big as this one. But it did. And it was huge. And you expected nothing less for the Monegasque. 

There were multiple different rooms that veered off the large living room: one that was furnished with a massive tv, soft plush sofas and a large fireplace that looked like it was straight out the front of a Christmas card. Surprisingly, it was decorated for the festive season with even a tree settled in the corner between the armchairs. It felt homely. It felt perfect for this midnight meeting. 

However, you didn’t get much of a chance to look around before he was dragging you out onto the balcony. There was a loveseat set up with pillows and blankets, and a small table set with hot chocolate and a plate of cookies (ones he assured you he had the chef make fresh). 

“I never took you to be so traditional,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as a light breeze hit you. “But I guess you have to make do since you haven’t even asked for my number.”

Charles raised his brows. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to hurry up and ask for it?” 

“Subtle is my middle name,” you retorted, his own repeated words thrown back in his face but they seemed to light a spark inside him. 

Charles’ eyes dropped to your lips for a few passing beats before they returned to your eyes, and you saw everything written in them. This was different to the days you had spent down in the foyer. Everyone could see you both. You could see everyone. It was public and out in the open and exposed. 

But here?

It was just you and him and the pretty night sky that shone and glittered with stars. You were away from the world, from reality. You were away from your family and friends. You were away from peering eyes and judgemental looks. You were in a bubble you never wanted to leave, huddled in thick wool blankets and desperately hoping he would close the minimal distance between you both. 

His lips were a hairbreadth away from brushing against yours when another breeze caressed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that momentarily jolted you away from him.

“You’re cold,” he noted, though it was pretty obvious when you two were both outside in minimal layers. “Let’s get inside. We can warm up by the fire.”

And a part of you wanted to scream off the balcony into the French Mountains when he stood up, when the moment broke and his lips weren’t against yours. But as angry as you wanted to be, you were grateful when he guided you to sit in front of the fire as he added more wood to the dying embers.

His thigh was brushing against yours when he settled into the spot beside you on the floor, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold as he grinned at you before holding his hands out to the fire. You laughed, following suit and the conversation from moments before the almost-kiss returned. 

However, minutes passed and your body was still racked with small shivers that Charles quickly picked up on.

“C’mere,” he murmured as he lifted his arm, giving you little time to dispute (not that you were going to) as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you into his side.

You didn’t think about it too much as you buried yourself into his embrace, as you pressed your cheek into his hoodie and enjoyed the way his hand seemed to leave a trail of heat wherever he touched. 

“If I get hypothermia and die, I’m coming back to haunt you and your sugar cookies,” you grumbled, though it was lighthearted as you pressed your nose further into the fabric of his hoodie. 

His chest shook underneath you as he laughed and tightened his hold on you. “I would never let anything happen to you, Stormy.”

“You and that stupid nickname,” you said as you let out a long sigh. “You know my actual name now. You have no excuse to use it.”

“Yeah, but it suits you,” Charles retorted, letting out a small noise of surprise when your cold fingers pinched his side. “Plus, you get this…uh, what’s the word…cute look on your face when you’re angry.” 

Your head snapped up to glare at him. “I don’t look cute when I’m angry.”

His face brightened. “Yes! That face! C’est mignon!"

Your eyes narrowed further. “Don’t pull the cute French card, it’s not gonna help you.”

“You think my French is cute?” Charles replied, his laugh echoing through the suite as you rolled your eyes.

“You drivers and your egos,” you grumbled.

“Have a lot of experience with drivers?” Charles questioned, a hint of something unreadable in his voice.

You snorted, both of you knowing the answer to that question but you played along. “Maybe I do.” 

His eyes darkened slightly. “What about kissing them?”

And just like that, Charles Leclerc had left you speechless for what felt like the millionth time since you met him.

His gaze was locked on your lips, the crackling of the fire felt like it was booming through the silent room and you were truly wondering if your heart was going to burst through your chest and splat on the floor in front of you both. 

“I can’t say I have much experience in that department,” you admitted once you managed to choke your words out.

His lips twitched upwards. “Would you like some experience, Stormy?” 

You didn’t know if you nodded or if he just took the signs of your flustered, stuttering mess and took mercy on you. You didn’t know if his hand reached to cup your face first or if it was your hand on the nape of his neck instead. You didn’t know if it was you moaning lowly into the kiss when his tongue darted out or if it was him. 

Kissing Charles Leclerc was overwhelming and world-altering and, truthfully, you didn’t think you could even utter your own name if someone asked you at that moment. 

“Merde,” he groaned before he kissed you harder, faster, more passionately. His other hand reached for your waist, those muscles hidden under his baggy hoodie put to good use as he hauled you onto his lap.

Your knees sat on either side of his hips, your ass firmly planted on his lap as the new position allowed you to fully wrap your arms around his neck. The boy’s hands dropped to your waist, squeezing and guiding as your hips shifted in his lap as his kisses left you seeking anything he would give you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted when he had to pull away, when his lungs were burning for air. But you still wanted more, you sought out to keep hearing those pretty noises he made as your lips trailed down his neck. “So fucking long.”

“You took your time,” you muttered between open-mouthed kisses when his hold tightened as your lips passed a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear.

“You hated me for a majority of the time we’ve known each other,” he managed to utter out, his head falling back as your teeth lightly grazed his skin.

“Does it look like I hate you now?” You retorted, something about the back and forth feeling as thrilling and exciting as his fingers fiddling with the hem of your hoodie.

Charles’ eyes caught yours as you lifted your head from his neck, lips red and swollen and fuck, he wanted to kiss you again. “I think I need a little more convincing.”

“Yeah?” You watched as he nodded, a little too eager but it made your stomach twist in the best way possible. “Well, you did promise to keep me warm.”

“I did,” he murmured, his voice a little rough and husky.

“Warm me up, Leclerc,” you whispered as you leaned down to kiss him again, his hands squeezing your waist before your lips even touched. “And then I’ll decide if I hate you still.”

A choked noise of surprise left your lips when Charles suddenly moved. You were no longer sitting on his lap, but instead had been laid back on the floor with the boy now hovering over you. He flashed you a smile, one twisted with promises that made your chest feel tight.

You waited for him to lean down and kiss you again. You waited to feel his heated touch on your body. You waited for him to finally slide his hands under the fabric of your hoodie, to feel his fingers along your bare skin. 

But instead, he just looked at you with so much fondness in his eyes.

“What?” You questioned, and suddenly the idea of being naked underneath him was no longer the most exposed you felt.

“Nothing,” he said simply as he shook his head. “Just…wanted to make sure.”

Your brows furrowed together. “Of what?”

“That you’re okay with this,” Charles said as he finally lifted his hand, as he let his fingers brush across the apple of your cheek. You could feel your skin heating up underneath his touch. “I want you to know that I’m happy to just talk. I don’t want you to think I just invited you here to—”

“Charles,” you interrupted, and the boy fell quiet as his cheeks flushed pink. “I want to.”

He tried to bite back his smile. “Yeah?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah.”

And despite the reassurance and despite the heat in your body that just wanted to throw your legs over the boy and ride him until the sun came up, Charles Leclerc was nothing, if not a gentleman. And something about that made it so much hotter. 

His touch was always so confident but gentle. The way his lips pressed against yours, the way his tongue caressed yours as his fingers slowly peeled away the layers of clothes between the two of you. The way he paused to set down pillows and a blanket to make it comfier for you before his fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and discarding them someplace else.

The way you reached down to cup his bulge in his boxers, prepared to slip your hand beneath the elastic of his boxers and stroke the length of him—only to have your hands batted away. You barely got a chance to question him before his kisses silenced you, before they began moving south and you felt his lips on every inch of your exposed skin that he could reach. 

You felt breathless by the time he was between your legs. You felt like your head was spinning with pleasure as he hooked his arms around your thighs and happily settled between them. You felt like you were in some sugar cookie induced dream as you glanced down, catching his eager eyes watching every little move and reaction you made.

The fire was roaring a few feet away, loud and proud and yet, it was his touch and whispered words that made your whole body feel like lava was coursing through your veins. It was the way his tongue swiped and licked your needy pussy, the way his lips wrapped around your clit until your back was arching off the ground. It was the way Charles murmured soft praises as his hands reached out for yours, as he intertwined your fingers and softly squeezed as you came on his tongue once, twice until you felt like a pile of bones. 

It was the way he smiled down at you like his face wasn’t glistening with your release. The way he leaned down to kiss you with the taste of yourself still on his tongue. It was the way he was fully prepared to leave it there, let you rest, spend the rest of the night listening to the random rants he could coax out of you. 

Charles only let out a surprised noise when you pushed him onto his back, as you straddled him like you fantasised about earlier and reached between your bodies to squeeze his aching cock.

You knew Charles Leclerc was pretty, even in the days where you thought you despised the man. It was an undeniable fact that he was easy on the eyes, that he was gorgeous, that he had one of those faces that didn’t make him feel like he was a real human. 

But he was undoubtedly prettier when you were sinking down on his cock, walls squeezing him as his lips parted to let out a string of curse words in a handful of languages you didn’t speak. 

His hands were all over you, his lips never stopped moving  and all it took was a slight lapse in your tempo as you rocked back and forth for the boy to grip your hips, hold you up with ease and fuck up into you.

You were a puddle on his chest, his lips right beside your ear as he whispered filthy words to you. His hands and kisses were gentle when it felt like you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep inside he was. Charles Leclerc was a fucking enigma that you didn’t ever want to work out. 

And even after he did most of the work, even after he was breathless and flushed and fucked out, you were still the first thing on his mind. Your comfort, your pleasure, just you.

“Cherie,” he murmured softly, the accent seeming a little thicker as he spoke. “We should move to the bed.”

“No,” your words muffled as you nuzzled yourself further into his chest, content where you were with your legs tangled together and your naked bodies pressed together. “I’m comfy here. Beside you.”

“Okay,” was all he said in response as he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head and pulled the blanket over the both of you before holding you closer—if that was even possible.

…

The first thing you noted when you woke up was how comfortable the ground felt beneath you.

The second thing was that you were no longer on the floor, but on a very comfy bed with a mattress that felt like it was a cloud.

Your hand blindly reached out to your side, expecting to feel a solid, warm body and probably a disgruntled curse from a certain Monegasque, but it never came. Your brows furrowed together, your hand continuing to pat the bed but it felt cold under your touch. 

For a short moment, you wondered if you had dreamt it all. You wondered if it was just a hyper-realistic dream where you swore you could still feel his touch on you, if it was all a part of your imagination. 

And then, from the other side of the door, you heard a voice. 

Your lips unknowingly tilted upwards as you sat up in bed, the sheet falling to your waist as you did. You stretched out your limbs, moving with no real rush as you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—a shirt of Charles’ that rested at your thighs—before making your way towards the door. 

You pushed the door open, expecting to find him lounging on the couch as he talked away to whoever he was on the phone with, but he wasn’t. You leaned your head out, peeking around to instead finding him on the balcony, the door still open to let his voice and a chilly breeze carry through into the suite.

You contemplated bracing the cold and making your way towards the balcony, to wrap your arms around his waist and settle into the warmth of him as he finished his call. Your hand moved to pull the door open wider, but then the muffled voice became actual words and you froze.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me. She never has. Why should I care now?”

You frowned a little. 

“I was doing her a favour, for no other reason.”

Your stomach churned, but you tried to ease your thoughts that were threatening to spiral.

“I’m not going to ever see her again after this trip, what’s the big deal anyways?”

But that? That was your final straw.

You felt sick to your stomach as you rushed around the room, staying as silent as you could as you redressed yourself. Your head felt like it was spinning, like you couldn’t even keep up with your own thoughts. You wanted to feel angry and spiteful, and maybe you did. 

But most of all, you just felt disappointed. 

In yourself. In the situation. In the man you thought Charles Leclerc was. 

You were fighting down the bile that felt like it was rising up your throat when you finally slipped out of his suite. He was still on the phone, still on the balcony when you left. And he probably wouldn’t even realise you were gone until you were safely back in your own room, where you could let everything hit you at once and let the tears threatening to spill finally fall. 

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to believe he was that kind of guy, another asshole that you had laid yourself out in front of, only for it to be thrown back in your face. You wanted to believe he was the gentleman you saw, touched and kissed last night. 

But the truth of the matter was that Charles Leclerc was just another name on your list of men who disappointed you, and you didn’t want to see his stupid, perfect face ever again.

…

Charles was absolutely fucking baffled. 

He felt like he was missing a key bit of information in his own life, and no matter how many times he replayed the last week or so in his head, he couldn’t work out what he was doing wrong. 

After a season of disappointing races and a team that played with his strategy like a fucking water balloon being thrown around by a group of toddlers, Charles wanted an escape. He wanted a place away from journalists and fans and everyone who even knew who he was. He just wanted a break from his own life.

The vacation at The Chalet was meant to just be that, but it became so much more.

For the first time in a long time, Charles felt like himself again. He felt happy. He was excited for the new year, he was excited for the future, he was excited for what possibly lay ahead of him. He felt like he was in some dream, but it wasn’t a dream. It was his reality and he woke up every day eager to know what amazing thing would happen to him—to know what amazing day he would have with you.

But that dream seemed to crumble into pieces when he realised you were ignoring him.

He didn’t try to take it too personally when he headed back into the bedroom that morning, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold weather but eager to spend a few lazy hours with you in between the sheets. He was eager to make you smile and maybe kiss you, maybe do something more.

But disappointment hit his chest when he saw the empty room. 

He just assured himself that you probably had to head back to your room before your family and friends woke up, or maybe you wanted to freshen up. He assured himself he would see you at breakfast and everything would be fine. 

But it wasn’t fine because you weren’t at breakfast. He waited in case you came at the end, but you didn’t. 

He waited for you at the usual spot in the foyer, but you never came.

He waited for you at lunch and dinner too, but you never came. 

The next day, he almost expected the same and was preparing himself to ask one of your friends if you were okay, but he was shocked to find you sitting in your usual place at breakfast. He smiled at you, something in his chest easing as he made a step in your direction, but the dirty glare you sent his way was enough to make him stop in his tracks. 

You didn’t turn up to the foyer that day either but between the dirty looks from you and the fact he was pretty sure Harper tried to trip him up at the coffee stand, he knew something was wrong. 

He just didn’t know what.

And every time he tried to get near you, tried to talk to you, it was a pathetically failed attempt that left that competitive streak inside his chest blaring with annoyance. 

You were ignoring him and he didn’t know why.

And then he saw it, three days after you started ignoring him. He was making his way into the dining hall, having just showered after a day in the slopes his friends dragged him out for, when he saw you and Evan by the buffet. 

Your eyes found his and something in his chest sparked. 

And then his eyes fell to the way your hand rested on Evan’s arm, the way you leaned into him as you laughed, the way Evan’s arm was thrown over your shoulder as you both walked back to your table. He watched as you both sat next to each other, so close your thighs were probably  pressed together under the table and something bitter settled in his stomach. 

He knew he had no real reason to be jealous. Especially between the fact that you yourself had assured him everything between you and Evan was platonic (if not familial) and the fact there was no real talk of anything being between you and himself other than a shitload of chemistry. 

But even logic didn’t stop the jealousy he felt.

His appetite was gone after that, as he turned around and headed back to his suite that felt a little bittersweet after the amazing night and shit morning he had with you. But he wasn’t in the mood to eat or pine for you from a distance. 

Charles was sick and tired of you ignoring him, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. 

And the first step in his plan had everything to do with the blond you were currently laughing and touching. He just needed to get Evan alone.

…

It was Christmas Eve when Charles’ plan finally reached its final step—to finally talk to you.

It felt like an odd sense of deja vu when you woke up that morning, making your way down for breakfast before you got ready for the slopes that day. You thought nothing off the weird looks Evan was giving you or the way he seemed giddier than usual, because truthfully it was no different to how Evan usually was on Christmas Eve. 

You put down his eagerness to head towards the slopes under the assumption he probably had some weird challenge for you and Harper at the top. You just hoped this one wouldn’t result in another sprained ankle. 

“I’m riding with you today, Stormy,” Evan said as the three of you headed towards the ski lift.

“Uh, get in line, loser,” Harper spoke up as she stood on the other side of you. “I called dibs.” 

Evan narrowed his eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I did just now,” Harper retorted. 

“Does it really matter?” You questioned, amused as you glanced between the two of them.

“Yes!”

“No!” 

Harper and Evan turned to glare at each other, confusion from one of them and insistence from the other. However, you just laughed and shook your head. 

“Fine, first one to the lift wins!” 

You were already settled in the lift as you heard the two of them bickering to each other. You waited to see which one would win, to see who would settle in the spot next to you. However, what you failed to notice was the way Evan all but threw himself on top of his sister so she couldn’t reach the lift before someone else did. 

You turned, a smile on your face as you waited to greet the winning Montgomery, but instead you found yourself staring at a painfully familiar set of green eyes. 

And in an instant, your smile dropped at the sight of Charles Leclerc sitting next to you. 

But before you could even think about jumping off the lift and taking the next seat, the lift was already too high up for you to do anything about it. 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said to break the silence.

But you didn’t respond.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me but at least hear me out,” Charles continued, a hint of desperation in his voice. “This is all a misunderstanding.” 

You kept your gaze facing forward.

“Evan told me what you thought happened that morning.”

And just like that, your head snapped around to stare at him, a mix of emotions going through you right now—though the biggest was possibly Evan’s betrayal. 

“You weren’t lying when you said he was a big fan,” he said with a nervous laugh. “It didn’t actually take much for him to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.”

“You used my friend?” You questioned, the bitterness and coldness in your voice evident.

“I asked and he gave me information,” Charles corrected before his shoulders sagged a bit. “Look, don’t blame him. He heard what I had to say and—”

“And I don’t care what you have to say so go talk to Evan about it,” you spat back at him, watching the way he winced at your words.

“Cherie—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Stormy—”

“And definitely don’t call me that.”

“Please,” Charles pleaded as he looked at you with wide eyes, ones that held so many emotions you did not want to see. “That phone call was not what you think.” 

You looked away at the mention of the phone call, something quite like anger and disgust bubbling inside you at the mere reminder of the words you heard that morning. “Just…stop it, Charles. I don’t care, okay? You go about your life and I’ll go about mine.”

“No,” he stated simply.

You scoffed. “What? You need another girl in another city to have fawning over you? The hundreds of others not enough?”

“No, because I am not interested in my life not having you in it. I am not interested in a hundred other girls.” The words were stated like they were facts. “Stormy, I just want you.”

You scoffed again but a hand tugging yours made you look over at Charles, fully prepared to pull your hand away. 

“I wasn’t talking about you on the phone that morning,” Charles quickly blurted out before you had a chance to say anything. “Everything you heard on the phone that morning, it wasn’t about you.”

You blinked.

“It was about Melanie.”

Your brows furrowed together, a crease forming between them that Charles had the urge to smooth out with his thumb, but he resisted.

“What?”

“She—” Charles paused for a moment, like he was trying to gather the correct words. “She’s not my friend, not really.”

You blinked again. “She’s not? But she acts—”

“She acts like we are, yes. She’s a friend of a friend, and that’s about all there is to her. She’s…uh, how do you say? She seems to have gained a crush on me? Or maybe it’s some weird obsession. I’m not quite sure,” Charles admitted with a frown. “She asked me out once, almost a year ago and I declined. But she has latched onto the group ever since and I couldn’t quite shake her off.”

You didn’t say anything, instead letting him continue. 

“She wasn’t even meant to be on this trip,” Charles confessed. “But she said to our mutual friend that she was alone this Christmas and…I just couldn’t say no, right? But she’s spent the last year acting like I didn’t reject her and I didn’t like the idea of being trapped up here with her. But even with all our other friends, she was always beside me. She was always there. And when she started to throw tantrums to our friends and make up stories after I started spending time with you, I had enough.”

Your lips parted slightly in shock.

“Turns out she told all our friends that we were together,” Charles said with a grimace. “That we wanted to keep it a secret from the media, and that meant I wanted to keep it from everyone. She tried to make it out like I was a monster to our friends when I started spending days with you. Thankfully, none of them believed a word she said but…it was just too much.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why you heard me ranting on the phone about not seeing her after this trip because I have no plans to be around her ever again and I made that clear to my friends. You can even ask them if you don’t believe me,” Charles said as he finally let out a long breath. He looked at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I would never say those things about you. Not when you might just be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Your cheeks burned. “Charles—”

“I know you feel it too,” he continued, and that desperate note to his voice returned. “I know you’ve felt it all week. I know you felt it that night. I know you feel like this—us—could be something.”

“I’m such an idiot,” you muttered, closing your eyes as you realised the agonsing and the pain and the ignoring over the last few days could have been avoided if you stayed in the bedroom a little longer that morning. Or if you had just spoken to him instead of letting the pettiness take over.

“You had no reason to think otherwise about me, cherie, and I get that,” Charles said as he squeezed your hand, almost like a tester to see if you would pull away or not. But you didn’t. “But I want to change that. I want to explore this. I want to show you that I would never do that to you. I want to give you reasons to trust me.”

“I would like that,” you murmured in a soft voice, but Charles heard you loud and clear as he grinned at you. 

“Yeah? You don’t hate me still?” He questioned.

You laughed, shaking your head as you did. “I don’t think I ever hated you, Charles.”

“Good, it makes this easier then,” he said before he leaned in, his slightly chapped lips pressed against yours—and something about it felt like coming home. 

You sunk into his embrace, your hand coming up to cup his cheek like you needed to believe he was really there (even if the gloves made it a little awkward). But feeling him smile against your lips was assurance enough. 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Charles.” 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Stormy. I hope it’s one of many with you.” 

And maybe Charles Leclerc became another one of the many reasons you loved The Chalet.

.

Ollie Bearman speaking to Paul Mescal on media day - Austin, 2024

Echoes of Broken Promises | OP81

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: Oscar faces a silence he can't escape, one filled with memories and unspoken words, leaving him to grapple with a past he can't forget.

Warning(s): Mild Language, angst, guilt, regret, kind of open ending.

"I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met."

Oscar Piastri sat at the press table, his usual calm demeanor in place as reporters fired off questions. The day’s pre-race interview was routine—at least, it was supposed to be.

The sun poured in through the large windows of the paddock, casting long shadows across the table and softening the tension in the air. The ambient noise of the bustling paddock outside barely reached them here, a stark contrast to the intensity of the moment.

Oscar’s answers were measured, polite, he was used to the interviews now, he tried to make his face as polite and as less expressive, as he could.

“So Oscar,” the interviewer began, her tone light, “we’ve recently heard around the paddock that you used to build karts with whatever you could find when you were little?”

Oscar laughed softly, a small chuckle escaping him as he nodded. “Oh yeah, I loved making karts. It was my favourite thing to do when I was young. I’d find some parts, and then me and y/n —” He stopped abruptly, his mind frozen on the name that was about to come out. He blinked, caught off guard, suddenly aware of the slip-up. The name.

Her name.

The one he hadn’t said in so long. The one he wasn’t ready to say.

For a beat, neither he nor the interviewer spoke. The room went oddly silent, the camera capturing the huge shift in Oscar’s expression.

The background chatter of journalists, the rustling of papers, the sound of clicking pens—all of it seemed to fade away.

It felt like the air thickened around him, each second stretching out longer than the last. A low hum of awareness seemed to reverberate in his ears, as if the room had suddenly become too small for all the feelings he’d kept buried.

As soon as the name left his lips, Oscar felt a wave of emotion surge through him. His breath caught in his throat. His heart hammered in his chest, a rapid, chaotic pulse that didn’t seem to belong to the calm and collected version of himself that everyone knew. He fought to regain control, but it wasn’t enough. The crack in his composure had been exposed.

The interviewer, caught off guard by the name, blinked at him in surprise. Her voice softened, a note of confusion creeping in.

“Y/N?” she asked cautiously, her eyes narrowing as if trying to process the sudden shift in Oscar’s demeanor.

The air around them grew heavier, and it was as if the entire room leaned in, sensing that something deeper was unfolding.

Oscar’s face froze. He realized what had just happened, his mind scrambling to regain control. The name was out there, hanging in the air between them, and suddenly, it felt like the room was closing in on him.

Y/N.

His childhood friend, the one person who had always been there. The one person he hadn’t spoken to fo so long. The one person he hadn’t let himself think about in so long. She was more than just a name now—she was a weight, an entire chapter of his life that he had long since buried. Or had tried to, at least.

For a moment, Oscar couldn’t speak. The weight of the memory, the loss, it was all too much. His usual polished exterior cracked, just slightly, and his eyes seemed to lose focus.

He blinked, but it didn’t help.

It was as if the world around him had blurred, and all he could see were flashes—images from his past, fragments of a time before everything became… complicated.

The interviewer leaned in a little, her voice unsure now. “Is… is Y/N someone important to you? A friend, perhaps?” she asked, a touch of empathy in her voice, but the question felt too intrusive, like she was pushing into a place Oscar wasn’t ready to go. The room had shifted, and suddenly, this wasn’t just about a race. This wasn’t just about Oscar as a driver. It was about something much more personal.

Oscar blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear the fog from his mind. He swallowed, his throat dry. “Yeah… she was a friend,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. The sentence sounded so final, like he was cutting something off, like he was slamming a door in front of everything that came before. But the ache in his chest grew stronger the more he tried to distance himself from the memory. The words felt like a surrender, like admitting he had no power over the way his past was creeping back up on him.

The interviewer, sensing his discomfort, didn’t back off. “What happened between you two? Did you two just… grow apart?”

Oscar felt the prickle of tension rising in his shoulders. He was a man of few words, preferring to keep things professional, to keep everything on the surface. But this was different. This was personal, and he didn’t want to go there.

Not here. Not now.

His jaw tightened, and the muscles in his neck stiffened.

“Uh…” He faltered, the words failing him. He glanced to the side, his mind briefly racing for an escape. It was all too much. The questions, the memories. He wasn’t prepared for this.

Lando Norris, who had been standing nearby, his arms folded and leaning casually against the wall, had been quietly observing the interview. He had been listening, half-smiling at Oscar’s nostalgic recounting of his childhood, but when Oscar had slipped and mentioned Y/N, something changed in his expression. Lando’s sharp eyes caught the shift in Oscar’s demeanor before anyone else did—the way his teammate’s face lost its usual warmth, the way his smile faltered. It was subtle, but Lando knew.

He could see it in the way Oscar’s gaze turned inward, distant, as if he were no longer sitting there in front of the press. Lando knew this was more than just a slip of the tongue.

He knew the name Y/N meant more than Oscar was willing to admit.

Without missing a beat, Lando stepped forward, his tone casual but with a subtle urgency. “Hey, Oscar,” Lando called out, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “I think I saw the engineers needing you for a quick debrief. You’re gonna want to check on that tire data.”

Oscar blinked, shaken out of his reverie.

His eyes focused again, and he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. But it was clear to Lando that he wasn’t okay. Not even close. Oscar's jaw was tight, his face pale, and his hand trembled slightly as it rested on the table.

Oscar’s gaze flickered back to the interviewer, his eyes still distant, as if he were seeing her through a fog. “Right, I think you’re right, Lando. I’ll—”

Lando gently but firmly placed a hand on Oscar’s shoulder, giving him a small, encouraging squeeze. He smiled brightly at the interviewer, trying to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable path it had taken. “Sorry, folks, but we’ve gotta get going. Oscar’s needed elsewhere,” Lando said smoothly, flashing a grin that was both disarming and purposeful.

The interviewer hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to push further or to let it go. But the mood in the room had shifted.

The once-easy atmosphere had become thick with an unspoken understanding. Oscar had stepped back, pulling away from the question with Lando's help, but the damage was done. The name Y/N had made its mark, and now it lingered like a shadow over the interview.

As Lando guided Oscar away from the press table, the weight of the moment still hung in the air. Oscar didn’t look back, his eyes focused straight ahead, but Lando could feel the tension radiating from him.

Oscar was lost in his thoughts, in that fleeting moment where the past and present collided. Lando knew his teammate well enough to understand that this was more than just a brief memory—it was a raw, unfinished chapter that Oscar wasn’t ready to face in front of the world.

The doors to the press room closed softly behind them, and the noise of the paddock rushed back in. But inside, Oscar was still somewhere far away, lost in the ghosts of his past. And Lando knew it would take time for him to come back to the present.

But for now, all Lando could do was walk beside him, offering his presence, a silent promise that Oscar wouldn’t have to face this alone.

_____________________________________

The moment the interview aired, it sent shockwaves through the F1 community. Fans were left bewildered, glued to their screens, as Oscar’s unexpected mention of Y/N stirred up more questions than answers. His sudden change in demeanor, the way his face fell, and the clear discomfort that followed, sent ripples of concern through the fanbase.

The uproar didn’t die down. In fact, it only intensified. As fans began to analyze every second of the interview, the mention of Y/N became the subject of endless speculation.

The hashtag #OperationFindOscarsYN took off like wildfire, with fans dedicating themselves to figuring out who Y/N was, what happened between them, and, most importantly, making sure Oscar was okay. It was as though the entire F1 fanbase had collectively decided to take matters into their own hands.

Twitter exploded with comments:

@SpeedJunkie94: “Okay, I’m officially joining #OperationFindOscarsYN. There’s something more to this than just a slip of the tongue. We need answers, people.”

@F1MysterySolver: “It’s time. We’re piecing this together. Who is Y/N? Oscar’s clearly struggling with something and we’re going to find out what happened.”

@PiastriFan93: “The way Oscar’s face changed… something’s up. We NEED to get to the bottom of this. OperationFindOscarsYN is ON.”

@Lando4Life: “Lando stepping in like that was so sweet, but I’m worried about Oscar. This can’t be ignored. We’re going to get to the bottom of it. #OperationFindOscarsYN #TeamPiastriSupport”

As the hashtag spread, fans began digging. Some scoured old karting photos, pulling out any hint of a person named Y/N, while others began tracing any mention of her in interviews, articles, and past social media posts. Forums and subreddits became flooded with theories, each fan convinced that they were the ones who would crack the case.

Reddit Thread Title: Has anyone else noticed Oscar’s reaction when he said Y/N’s name? We NEED to find out who this is.

Comments:

@KartingPro88: “I found an old interview from when Oscar was 13. He mentioned racing with someone named Y/N. Could this be her? He was super close to her back then, but I haven’t seen her mentioned since...”

@F1Whispers: “Guys, I’ve been digging through some old Instagram accounts and I found a picture of Oscar with someone who fits the timeline of when he used to race karts. It’s a long shot, but it could be her. I’m going to send it out now.”

The internet was buzzing. People who had once been indifferent to Oscar’s private life were now combing through his past, desperate to connect the dots.

Instagram was no different:

@OscarPiastriOfficialFanPage posted a video clip of the interview with a caption that read: “What happened here? Oscar seemed so emotional after saying Y/N’s name. If you know anything about Y/N, comment below. We’re all in this together. #OperationFindOscarsYN”

Fans began tagging Oscar’s previous teammates, his family, anyone who might know more. Some of them were serious. Others, a bit more comical.

@MaxVerstappenWorld: “Okay, so we’re all worried about Oscar, but can we please not bombard him with questions right now? #OperationFindOscarsYN can be paused for now. But seriously, Oscar’s well-being comes first.”

@YukiTsunodaFan: “I’m just here for the drama, but I seriously hope Oscar’s okay. Whatever happened with Y/N, he doesn’t seem fine.”

The fans’ determination only grew stronger as they pieced together more details. Every person who followed Oscar closely began to feel like they were part of a giant puzzle, trying to solve the mystery of the man who had always kept a stoic mask on.

The question everyone wanted answered now wasn’t just about Y/N. It was about why Oscar was so visibly shaken by the memory.

Was it a bad breakup? A falling out with a close friend? Or maybe something more painful that he had never shared with anyone?

Oscar hadn’t commented, but the flood of fan support, mixed with a rising tide of concern, was undeniable.

They wanted to know who Y/N was for all the right reasons—because, deep down, they wanted to help Oscar heal. They didn’t just want to uncover the mystery—they wanted to make sure he was okay.

_______________________________________

Oscar stood by the swings, his hands nervously clasped behind his back. He was always the quiet kid, content to watch the others play, unsure how to join in. The sun shone brightly on the playground, but Oscar felt a little out of place, his feet shuffling against the sand.

It was during this moment of quiet observation that she appeared, like a burst of sunlight in a grey world.

A girl, with wild, untamed hair and bright, curious eyes, skipped up to him with a big grin. “Hey! I’m Y/N!” she said enthusiastically, offering her hand without hesitation.

Oscar blinked in surprise. He had never seen someone so confident, someone so willing to step into his world. But before he could say anything, she was already talking again, “Do you want to play with me? We can build a fort or something!”

Oscar stood there, unsure, and then something inside him clicked. She wasn’t just talking to him—she wanted to spend time with him. She wanted him to be part of her world.

A tentative smile crept onto his face, and he slowly nodded, taking her hand. “Okay, I guess so.”

"But the sand is very slippery because Billy poured all of his water on it, so make sure to hold my hand tight, okay?" Y/N asked.

Oscar's grip to her hand tightened. "I'll hold your hand, promise"

From that moment, they were inseparable.

"I promise that I'll always be there to hold your hand"

______________________________________

It was a typical Saturday afternoon, and the two of them were at Oscar’s house, lying on the living room floor, watching TV. Oscar’s mum, Nicole, was preparing dinner in the kitchen, but the two kids were caught up in the wedding scene playing out on the screen. A bride in a white dress stood beside a groom, both holding hands with smiles that seemed to light up the entire room.

“Why are they getting married?” young Oscar asked, furrowing his brow as he stared at the screen.

Nicole, busy stirring the pot on the stove, glanced over and smiled. “Because they love each other, Oscar. They want to spend their whole lives together with the person who means the most to them.”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, he turned to Y/N, his eyes wide with a sudden thought. His small hand reached out to hers, his fingers brushing against her skin. “I’m going to marry you one day, Y/N,” he declared, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he even realized their weight.

Nicole gasped, and Y/N’s eyes widened. “You’re gonna marry me?” she asked, blinking in surprise. But then, without missing a beat, she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, making Oscar’s heart flutter. “Okay! I’ll marry you too, Oscar!”

Oscar’s face turned bright red, but his heart swelled with joy. That simple kiss, that innocent gesture, made him feel like the luckiest boy alive. In that moment, Oscar truly believed that nothing could ever change between them. They were meant to be together.

"I promise to grow old with you"

____________________________________

The day had finally come, and Oscar stood with his bags packed, ready to leave. His parents were with him, standing by his side, but Oscar’s eyes were focused on one person: Y/N. She was standing there, her back straight but her face betraying the sadness she was trying to hide.

Oscar walked up to her slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m really going, Y/N,” he whispered, feeling the lump in his throat tighten. His eyes searched hers for any sign of the bond they once had.

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. “I know, Oscar... I know.” Her voice trembled, the words barely coming out. “But... don’t forget about me, okay?”

Oscar could feel his heart breaking, but he took a deep breath and promised her, “I won’t. I’ll write to you. I’ll never forget you, I swear.”

Y/N nodded, but her lips trembled. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, locking his eyes with hers, the sincerity in his voice clear.

“I’ promise to always be there for you"

They hugged then, long and tight, and for a moment, it felt like nothing could break them apart. But as the airport loudspeaker blared, calling for the final boarding of his flight, the moment shattered.

Oscar pulled away, his hand brushing against her cheek as he looked down at her one last time. “I’ll come back. And we’ll keep in touch"

She nodded, but the sadness in her eyes told him she didn’t quite believe it. With one last lingering look, Oscar turned, walking toward the gate, his heart heavy in his chest.

As he boarded the plane and looked out the window, he saw her standing there, her face a blur of tears and hope. The image of her, her figure fading in the distance, was burned into his memory, and he promised himself that he would carry that moment with him forever.

"I will always remember you"

______________________________________

Years had passed. Oscar had gone on to become a Formula 1 driver, living the life he had always dreamed of. The world had become his oyster, with fans and teammates praising him. But something was missing. Something he couldn’t quite place.

It was during a brief visit back to Australia when Oscar had been walking to a local cafe and just as he rounded the corner, he bumped into someone.

“Ouch! Sorry!” Oscar quickly apologized, but his voice trailed off as his eyes locked onto hers.

“Y/N?” Oscar asked, unable to believe it.

She blinked, her face lighting up with shock, and in that moment, it was as though no time had passed. She looked older, more mature, but still the same Y/N he had known all those years ago.

“Oscar?” Her voice cracked slightly, disbelief clear in her expression.

They stood there for a moment, both unsure of what to say, before Oscar spoke up. “It’s really you... after all these years.” He smiled, a little nervous, but his heart skipped a beat when he saw the familiar twinkle in her eyes.

The silence stretched between them, awkward at first, but it didn’t take long for Oscar to ask, “Do you want to grab a coffee? Catch up?”

They sat across from each other, the air between them thick with unspoken words. They talked about their lives, their achievements, their struggles. But no matter how much they tried, it was impossible to ignore the distance between them, the things left unsaid.

After a while, Oscar grew frustrated. “Why does it feel like... we’re not the same anymore?” His voice was soft, but there was an underlying hurt there that he couldn’t mask.

Y/N looked down at her coffee, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her cup. She took a deep breath before finally meeting his gaze. Her voice was almost a whisper when she replied, “Because silence created by broken promises can never be filled with words, Oscar”

Oscar’s heart stopped. The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had made promises to her, and now, here she was, telling him that silence—his silence—had destroyed them.

She stood up, grabbing her bag, and looked at him one last time. “Goodbye, Oscar.” And with that, she walked away, leaving him sitting there, frozen in place, feeling like he was suffocating.

Oscar had tried to contact her after that day. He reached out, sending messages, emails, trying to find her again, but it was like she had vanished into thin air. He went constantly to the same cafe, hoping that she would show up there, and maybe he could stop her, and convince her to talk to him.

Convince her to give him another chance. A chance he knew that he didn't deserve.

The guilt gnawed at him. He had broken his promises. He had let her go without even realizing it. And now, all he had were the broken pieces of a friendship, a relationship, and a past that seemed so distant, so unreachable.

And in that cafe once again, sitting alone with his coffee, Oscar realized the truth: it wasn’t just the promises he had broken—it was her. She had been the one thing in his life that had always been constant, and now, she was gone.

"I promise to keep on loving you, no matter what"

________________________________________

The night had fallen over the paddock, but the buzz from the race still lingered in the air. Oscar and Lando had just secured their spots on the podium—Lando in first, Oscar in second.

The team was celebrating, everyone basking in the euphoria of a hard-fought victory. But amidst the cheers and laughter, Oscar felt a heaviness settle deep in his chest. It was supposed to be a time of celebration, but something, someone, was missing.

Lando had pulled him away from the party, leading him to a quieter corner of the paddock. The loud music faded into the background as they settled down with drinks in hand. Oscar had already had more than enough to drink, the alcohol flowing freely through his veins. But it didn’t numb the ache inside him. If anything, it made it worse.

“You know,” Lando said, his tone unusually soft, “you should be enjoying this. You’re on the podium with me, mate. This is a big moment.”

Oscar half-smiled, his head tilted back as he stared at the stars above. “I know,” he mumbled, his voice low, barely audible over the noise of the celebration behind them. “But it doesn’t feel... right.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “What do you mean? We’ve been through this. It’s a huge achievement. You earned it.”

Oscar let out a bitter chuckle, his fingers tightening around his drink. “Yeah... but you’re not the one carrying this weight.” He looked at Lando then, his eyes dark, haunted. “There’s something else on my mind. Someone.”

Lando didn’t need to ask who. He could see it in Oscar’s eyes, the way the energy drained out of him the moment he mentioned it.

“Y/N,” Lando guessed, his voice quieter now. He didn’t push, but Oscar’s silence was answer enough.

Oscar’s gaze dropped to the floor, the words tumbling out of him before he could stop them. “It was her, Lando. She... she was the one. The girl I loved.” He paused, as if the weight of it was too much to bear. “The girl I still love. Why am I trying to kid myself? I still think about her every.damn.day.”

Lando’s heart sank, and for the first time, he saw Oscar not as the confident, driven teammate he admired, but as a man who had been carrying the scars of the past for far too long. He leaned forward, placing a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “You deserve to be happy, Oscar,” he said quietly, his voice full of empathy. “You’ve worked so hard for this. You’ve earned it.”

Oscar’s eyes met his, and for a brief moment, Lando saw the deep sadness in them. “No. No, I don’t deserve her, Lando.” His voice cracked slightly, and he took a long drink, his hands trembling slightly. “I hurt her... I broke promises. She trusted me, and I let her go. I was so caught up in everything... racing, fame, success... and she... she faded away. And now? Now, I’m just a guy who doesn’t even know how to fix what I broke.”

Lando sat in silence, his heart aching for his younger teammate. He had always known Oscar was a bit of an enigma, but this... this raw vulnerability hit him harder than he expected. Oscar wasn’t just lost in the world of racing. He was lost in his own regrets, in a past that had shaped him but also broken him.

“I don’t know what to do, Lando,” Oscar said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I keep trying to convince myself that I’m okay, that this—this life—is enough. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is her face. All I feel is the guilt. She was the best part of me, and now... I can’t even reach her anymore. She’s gone. And it’s my fault.”

Lando’s throat tightened, and he wanted to say something to make it better, to fix it, but he knew he couldn’t. There were no easy answers, no quick fixes for something like this. He only had his friendship to offer, and the deep sorrow that weighed down on him as he watched Oscar crumble under the weight of his own heartache.

“You’re not a bad person, Oscar,” Lando finally said, his voice thick with emotion. “We all make mistakes. But... sometimes you’ve gotta let go of the past. You can’t change what happened. But you can learn from it. And if she really meant that much to you, maybe it’s not too late. Maybe there’s a chance...”

Oscar shook his head, the alcohol in his system starting to cloud his thoughts even more. “It’s too late for that,” he said softly, his words heavy. “She’s gone. I’ll never be able to fix it.”

Lando could feel the weight of Oscar’s pain, and in that moment, he realized how much his younger teammate had truly suffered. It wasn’t just the loss of a relationship—it was the loss of a part of himself.

The two sat in silence for a while, the noise of the celebration fading into the background. Oscar’s eyes were distant, his mind caught in a place he couldn’t escape from. And as much as Lando wanted to help, there was nothing he could do to take away the guilt and regret that had haunted Oscar for so long.

When the silence finally stretched too long, Lando stood, clapping a hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “You’ll get through this,” he said softly, trying to offer some comfort, but knowing it wouldn’t be enough.

Oscar nodded slowly, a sad smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know, Lando. I really don’t.”

And with that, Lando left him there, standing alone in the quiet of the night. The sound of the celebrations continued behind them, but Oscar didn’t feel part of it.

He felt like an outsider in his own life, caught between the past he couldn’t change and the future that seemed uncertain without her in it.

And as he sat there, drowning in his thoughts, he realized that no matter how many victories he had, no matter how many podiums he climbed, there would always be a part of him that would be lost without her.

____________________________________

Later that night, after the race and the celebrations had faded into the background, Oscar lay in his hotel room, exhausted. His body ached, and his head felt fuzzy from the drinks Lando had insisted on—just a few, to celebrate, he said. But it wasn’t the race or the alcohol that kept Oscar awake. It was the same thing that had been on his mind for so long now: Y/N.

Lando had been relentless in trying to cheer him up. But as the night wore on, Oscar couldn’t escape the weight of his past—the guilt, the broken promises. He felt emotionally wrung out. Every laugh with Lando, every casual word, only reminded him of how far he’d fallen from the person he once was. How far he was from the girl he once loved.

He pulled out his phone, hoping for some distraction. The screen lit up with a new message from Lando.

Lando has sent you a link

Lando has sent you a link

Lando: Hey mate, you might want to check this out. Fans are seriously going after Y/N for you. They think they might actually find her this time. It’s crazy. They're rooting for you. Don't give up yet.

Oscar’s chest tightened, but he pushed the thoughts aside, willing himself to focus on something—anything—else. His eyes lingered on the screen, and then another notification popped up.

It was from Instagram. He stared at it blankly for a moment, his heart skipping a beat. He would recognize that face in the profile picture anywhere.

"Y/N L/N ✅ wants to follow you"

________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

I tried to end it in a sad ending but I don't think I have that courage in me, especially for Oscar.

If you like this, please leave a like, comment and reblog.

Jules♡

circumstances will NEVER matter

oh my god please stop beating a dead horse

we have been over this topic so many times. People have repeatedly told you, "circumstances don't matter" and yet a ton of you STILL harp on about your circumstances.

STOP IT.

I don't know why some of you people expect bloggers to start saying something different when YOU are the one who keeps worrying about the 3D like it dictates your manifestations when you should have already hammered the fact that your assumptions manifest and that what you see DOESN'T MATTER into your head.

"but i-" I DONT CARE!!! Stop relying on what you perceive to tell you if you have something or not. Stop seeking validation from the outside when it all stems from YOU.

Your circumstances suck, we know. They are hard, unliveable, stress inducing, exhausting, depressing, etc. Nobody is denouncing that it's rough, but for gods sake you need to stop conflating having results ≠ it showing up in 3D.

The 'success' is you persisting in/accepting your assumption, that IS IT. Because guess what? Someone who dgaf about what they're being shown and knows that their assumptions are the only truth and form everything, WOULDN'T GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT WHAT THEY'RE SEEING BCS THEY KNOW THEY HAVE IT. THEY DONT EQUATE HAVING SOMETHING MATERIALISE AS THE SUCCESS, THEY UNDERSTAND THEY WERE SUCCESSFUL THE MOMENT THEY ASSUMED IT.

you can sit there and complain about how shit is too hard but guess what? It's gonna keep being hard because you keep assuming it is. you can either stop and fix your assumption or keep repeating this cycle, it is up to you.

Luke, who´s obsessed with saying, ´where my hug at?´

fully based on this post

warnings. fluff <3, little drunk!luke

₊˚⊹♡

The phrase had become a running joke, a playful thorn in your side. It all started innocently. You and Luke had been sparring very intensely, just like you always did when you wanted to put your engines to work and you had some free time. And like most times, he would beat you.

And after he helped you get up from the ground, he let it out.

“Where my hug at?”

You turn to him. He was standing there, sword in hand, with his arms open and ready to receive you. "What?" you laugh.

"Come on” he gestured you with his fingers to get closer to him, “Don´t you need one after stomping your ass to the ground? Again?”

You scoff. It was ridiculous, yes, but there was something about the way he said it, a goofy earnestness that made you want to laugh. And partly, because you knew he knew you too well; you did like giving hugs, just as much as you like receiving. But still, you knew he was teasing you.

“I´m not giving you any hugs” you say.

“You´ll need it later” he teased.

You hesitated for a moment, but then with a groan, you gave in, wrapping your arms around his torso as he wrapped his own over your shoulder to keep your head close to his chest.

But that one hug was a button you shouldn´t have pressed. From that day on, ‘Where my hug at?’ became Luke's catchphrase, deployed with strategic precision to elicit a reaction from you.

You sat on a sturdy tree trunk one night, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming your hands. Counselor duties had been particularly demanding today, and a pleasant weariness settled over you as you watched the flames lick at the night sky.

“Hey” Luke said as he appeared behind you, taking a seat next to you.

You hadn't seen Luke all day, his schedule as busy as yours. “Hi” you greeted.

“Rough day, huh?” he asked.

You glanced at him, a tired smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You could say that. You?"

He stretched languidly, his arm brushing against yours. "Same" he said before taking your own mug from your hands, taking a sip.

A comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the rhythmic roar of the fire. You both sat there, lost in your own thoughts, enjoying the shared camaraderie.

"Got any plans for tonight?” he asked casually.

You shrugged, tossing a charred stick onto the growing pile of embers. "Probably just stargaze for a bit, I need that."

"Sounds boring" he declared.

“You´re boring” You chuckled, nudging him playfully. "You spend all day teaching swordsmanship."

"Well, someone needs to make sure these kids don't accidentally poke someone's eye out” he declared. And there was another soft silence, before he broke it with another comment. “I´m really fucking tired” he groaned.

“Yeah, me too” you say, squeezing your own neck as you feel a knot growing bigger and bigger every time you move.

“Where my hug at, then?”

“Oh, Jesus”

Gods, wouldn't he let it go?

“Pleasee-ah, I need to squish something” he said.

"Where does this obsession with hugs even come from?" you ask, taking another sip from your mug.

He shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe because I just happen to know a certain someone who´s all about physical touch?"

"Oh, please," you scoffed, stepping on his foot on purpose. "You just like messing with me."

"Maybe a little," he admitted, “Come on! Don´t you feel sorry for me?”

You couldn't help but laugh at his ridiculousness. "Fine, fine" you conceded, scooting closer to him. As you leaned in for the hug, Luke chuckled, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you close. You both stare into the flames in silence.

"See?" he murmured with satisfaction. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

And because of how proud he feels, you pull away and push him down to the grass, his feet being the only thing visible over the tree trunk as a small group of campers erupted in laughter.

Gods, you had to be careful when he got drunk.

He was already clingy enough when he drank, but ever since the questions became his whole personality, he was much more annoying. "Man, it´s getting cold" he declared, throwing his arm dramatically around your shoulders. "Where my hug at?"

"You've asked me like ten times already, Luke” you groan, unwrapping his arm around you.

He blinked slowly, processing the information. "Oh," he mumbled, his grin faltering. "Have I?"

You nodded, fighting back a smile at his sheepish expression. There was a moment of silence. Just as you thought you might have escaped the hug-question, Luke spoke again.

"Well then," he declared, his voice thick with drunken confidence, "where my eleventh hug at?"

“It´s not here!” you yell.

Then he disappeared from a moment with Chris, and just a few minutes later, he came back. Pocking on his own biceps.

"Hey," Luke called. "Did I ever tell you how much stronger I'm getting?"

"Uh-huh" you replied cautiously, sensing another round coming on.

"Yeah," he continued, his voice laced with a newfound seriousness. "I could, like-, totally take down the entire cabin five."

You patted his back awkwardly, unsure how to respond to his drunken boast. "That's...great?”

"Yeah, it is!" he declared, pulling away and looking at you with wide, glassy eyes. "Come on, feel my arms, where my hug at?"

You started to poke Luke´s arms as he only looked at you, puffing up his chest as he waited. “I can feel your arms without having to hug you” you protest.

“Ugh” he groaned, “You´re so difficult to convince”

But sometimes, when the atmosphere was different, so was the question.

You sat perched on a rock overlooking the beach, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore. A soft crunch of gravel alerted you to Luke's presence. He climbed onto the rock beside you, his gaze mirroring yours as he took in the breathtaking sunset. You could feel Luke's concerned gaze turn towards you, and you knew he'd noticed the glistening tracks of dried tears on your cheeks.

"Your mom?" he asked softly, his voice laced with concern as he looked down at the piece of paper you had on your lap.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. A sniffle escaped you, and you quickly folded the letter again, tucking it away with a sigh.

"What'd she say?" he pressed gently.

You forced a smile, but it reached neither your eyes nor your heart. "I can't go," you whispered, the disappointment heavy in your voice. "She won't let me."

Luke shifted closer, his presence a silent source of comfort. He didn't bombard you with questions or try to offer false reassurances. He simply understood. “Well, at least you´re staying here with me” He bumped his shoulder against yours playfully, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes. You couldn't help but let out a soft, shaky laugh.

"Yeah," you mumbled, the weight on your chest lifting a little. "Yeah, that's not too bad."

The two of you sat there in companionable silence, watching the last rays of sunlight surrender to the approaching night.

The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the rhythmic roar of the waves. You turned your head towards Luke, his profile etched against the vibrant sunset.

"Luke" you called.

He turned toward you, his eyes searching yours. A hesitant smile touched your lips, a flicker of hope igniting within you. In that moment, the question that usually brought forth annoyance now carried a deeper meaning.

"Where my hug at?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn´t need you to ask twice. Without a word, he opened his arms wide, a silent invitation for comfort as he couldn´t hold back a little laugh.

You didn't hesitate. You leaned into his embrace, burying your face in the familiar scent of him. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close as if afraid to let go, silently acknowledging your pain. His touch was a promise to be there for you whenever you needed him.

The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over. You let them flow freely, finding solace in the warmth of his embrace. In that moment, the disappointment faded into the background, replaced by the comforting knowledge that you weren't alone. You had Luke, and that, at least for now, was enough.

˗ˏˋ ★ ──── 1 TO 100 ‼

「 “ 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘵. ” 」

eventual james potter x fem!reader; inevitable angst and annoyance as james slowly matures over his time at hogwarts. slowburn. total word count: 56.3K

2.7K | FIRST YEAR.

5.8K | SECOND YEAR.

2.7K | THIRD YEAR.

6.0K | FOURTH YEAR.

6.4K | FIFTH YEAR.

14.0K | SIXTH YEAR.

18.7K | SEVENTH YEAR.

Daily reminder that the U.S. has been supporting these kinds of genocidal wars of aggression for 100+ years. This is nothing new and not a recent phenomenon-this has been going on for a long time.

It's important during times like this that we make sure people don't fall down the trap of blaming everything on the so called "ZOG" or "Zionist Occupied Government" which basically leads to the brain dead and fucking utterly stupid neo-Nazi route of blaming everything on "da Joos”

The U.S. has had horrific foreign policy long before there was even a strong and influential Israel lobby.

The Korean War occurred before AIPAC existed, and during the early 20th century before Israel existed the U.S. brutally colonized and occupied the Philippines, invaded Russia right after the Bolshevik revolution to crush the communist movement there, and plenty of other examples of this kind of foreign policy. And of course during the 1800s in the era of Manifest Destiny you had the genocide of native Americans, the Mexican-American war, and so on.

The idea that this is all the fault of Zionists is an absolutely brain dead analysis. The problem is mainly just capitalism (as well as racism and other factors of course, especially during the 1800s) which is a system that always leads to the most insane people ruling over us, regardless of ethnicity.

Zionism just happens to be compatible with the interests of imperialists in the Middle East region.

Blaming everything purely on Zionism and "ZOG" is completely insane and shows a profound ignorance of the history of American foreign policy.